


drawn into the frost on the glass was a map pointing to my secret hiding place

by timeladyleo



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: 'enemies' to lovers, Arranged Marriage, Enchanted Forest AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:15:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27331078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeladyleo/pseuds/timeladyleo
Summary: Once, there was a princess who befriended a dragon and craved a life beyond her duty. And that was just what she got.Or, an enchanted forest, misc medieval fantasy hercolyn au, starring princess Carolyn and lovable rogue Herc.
Relationships: Carolyn Knapp-Shappey & Theresa of Liechtenstein, Carolyn Knapp-Shappey/Gordon Shappey, Carolyn Knapp-Shappey/Herc Shipwright, Martin Crieff & Douglas Richardson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this fic really belongs to my dear friend mjn-air, without whose ideas and enthusiasm this fic would never have grown beyond the confines of my own head, or that one drabble I wrote for fantober, so if you enjoy this, you're indebted to them! 
> 
> also, yes, I am effectively imagining a merlin-style world, and although this is not a merlin au, I owe merlin quite a lot in terms of my visualisation of it. I'm going to try and be as good as i can updating this (looking at the five years it took me to do zurich au...) but i'm not promising anything. i'd love to say every two weeks, but we'll have to see.
> 
> title, as it so often is, from a Radical Face song, "Secrets (Cellar Door)". I know it's long, but this line wouldn't leave me when I was toying with title ideas, so it stuck.

Once, there was a castle that overlooked, to the left, a deep and wild forest which was home to the most terrifying and beautiful beasts in all the world, and to the right, the town of Fitton, over whom the monarchs of the castle reigned. It was said that in the forest lived a great, ancient dragon who burrowed deep into the caves and hoarded its treasure. Many explorers had gone in search of it in hope of wealth, and all had returned with nothing. 

Once, in the town of Fitton lived a man who had earned a living and reputation in recent years as one of the finest shoemakers the town had ever seen. Of course, his trade was not simply limited to shoes; he made saddles and belts and anything else that anyone could want made out of leather. But the shoemaker knew he was getting old, and knew he needed to pass on his knowledge. 

Once, there was a rogue who lived deep in the forest, spending his days lounging in the sun and singing songs with his friends around the fire. They were hated by the town, outcast because they dared to live freely and denounced the rule of the monarchy. Although there were many in the town who had an unfavourable view of their rulers, they had seen what happened to dissent, so turned their frustrations towards the forest-dwellers.

Once, the young prince was the most beloved royal of all, as he spent his days roaming around the town just so he could say hello. He loved to stop and look at the flowers. Though he was well-loved by the people, the King was displeased with his son’s behaviour and wished he would follow his sisters’ obedience to the crown. 

Once, a young man with ambitions found himself apprenticed to a formidable craftsman who he wished desperately to be like. It had happened by accident, really, some cosmic roll of fate that had led him to this door and pushed him in so that he could be torn between learning what he wanted to know, and convincing himself that he was where he was meant to be. 

Once, there was a princess who befriended a dragon and craved a life beyond her duty. And that was just what she got. 

#

The guards were swarming tonight. It was such an overreaction. But then, it always was, each and every time. The rumour rumbled around the castle like cannons until they put the whole place under armed guard, day and night, worried that something might happen. Dragons were, after all, very bad creatures who couldn’t possibly want anything except destruction. The only thing they were more afraid of than dragons was a peasant’s revolt. 

Carolyn wished that would happen too. 

She pulled her cloak tighter to herself as the guards passed. She was reasonably sure they wouldn’t recognise her – she had stolen a dress from one of Ruth’s maids months ago, and no-one expected the crown princess to be out after hours. They ought to have done. 

Her father would be angry, if he found out. And the guards were more afraid of him than her, so no amount of protest would stop them from stopping her and telling. It was already hard enough getting out of there without being seen, but with a guard on her at all hours, reporting her every action, she really would be confined to her quarters. How unbearable. 

The guards passed, ignoring her. They’d be ashamed, if they knew it was her. As if her title made her worthy of their respect. 

She drifted down the corridor, her worn boots silent against the stone. Ruth hated these boots. Carolyn hated her. “You could have any shoes in the world, why are you still wearing those awful things?” Ruth demanded of her, every time. And every time, Carolyn shrugged and told her to mind her own business. Ruth didn’t like that either. 

The shadows were long in the passage, the torches low and the winter nights creeping into the very bones of the castle. Carolyn turned down one of the steep corridors that led to a servant’s door. This was her favourite escape, dark and hidden, and most importantly, unguarded. Usually. One of these days, she knew she was going to get busted sneaking out of here, but until that happened, she wasn’t going to stop.

As she got to the door, she paused, listening for the stomp of the patrol. Silence. Cautiously, she pushed the door, letting it whine on its hinges. The night air hit her, cool and crisp. She smiled. 

Free from the castle, now, she picked up speed, hands in pockets, strolling down the hill towards the forest. The stars were out, cold pinpricks in the dark. She didn’t have time to stop and stare, though, not until she got under the cover of the trees, safe from eyes the expected anything of her. It would be frosty, in the morning, she thought. Damp and cold. 

She should have been afraid. She knew that, really, she should have been so frightened to be alone in the forest, where there were, supposedly, creatures and rogues, wild beasts and men who lived outside the law, who wouldn’t care who she was and knew what they wanted. But she didn’t care. A hooded cloak was no disguise, really. You didn’t get to be crown princess and anonymous. 

The trees rose up before her, imposing and welcoming, the night hanging gloomily on their bare branches. She barely paused as she continued, letting her fingers trail over a trunk. Cold. Damp. Somewhere, some animal was keening, a horrid wailing that rose and fell in echoes, backed by the intermitted hoots of an owl. Carolyn felt her heart start to race. She wasn’t headed in any particular direction, just going where her feet took her until they got tired and took her home. She trusted them not to get her lost. 

For a while, she followed the stream, the water a shadow, thick and shining. One night, the moon had been so big and bright that the stream had flowed silver, a ghostly path through the dark. No moon tonight. Just the stars and the gloom and the sound of her pulse in her head. 

Ahead, a bush rustled, starling her. Probably a rat, or a fox, or a barghest. That had been the closest she had been to frightened, recently, seeing the barghest staring at her, blazing eyes lighting up everything in orange. She had thought it would pounce, that that was it and that they’d find her body later and call her stupid and regret not locking her up where they could keep it. But it had just stared, and stared, then turned and vanished into the shadows. 

She had tried not to think too hard about the implications. Omens of death, and all that. 

The stream veered away, but Carolyn continued on straight, leaves crunching underfoot. She was pretty sure she was near the old, fallen tree, the one so big you could crawl right into its hollow belly and sit up, and listen to the rain hammer down on the dead wood. Beyond was a crag that she had almost fallen down – she had gone back in the day, once, to look down the decline, at the rocks and trees and millions of places to break an ankle. 

She was pretty sure there was a system of caves that ran beneath Castle Hill, but she hadn’t ever sought them out. She liked the open air, the trees. The walk. It was nice just to walk, to hum to herself and explore. 

Another rustle, this time behind her. She clenched her fists, angry at herself for being so on edge. She thought about the barghest’s fiery eyes, blazing hot into her. She turned but couldn’t see a thing. Everything was still.

And then it wasn’t.

The trees shook under a wind that hadn’t been there seconds ago. Carolyn reached for the nearest tree, crouched next to it, trying to remember how to breathe. If she was still, it would pass. If she was still, she could be safe. A thump, a growl. The sound of a creature scuffing the earth, sniffing. 

“I know you’re there,” it said, its voice low. “Please come out. I won’t hurt you.”

“Why should I trust that?” Carolyn shouted, then bit her tongue. How stupid was she, engaging with a creature that sounded like it wanted to kill her?

“You shouldn’t, you’re right. But I promise, and I’d hate to break my word like that.”

Carolyn stood, slowly, and looked around the tree, straight into the eyes of a grinning dragon. 

“Hello, Princess.”

#

“Am I really going to have to tell you again, Martin? How many times?”

“Hold the awl at 45 degrees,” Martin muttered at the same time as Douglas. Douglas gave him a look. 

“I’m being serious, Martin. Look at how sloppy your stitches are! The holes are all over the place, do you think this’ll give you any wear?”

“No,” said Martin, softly. 

“Do it again. I want you to prove to me you can do it before I trust you with a real project.” 

“Yes, Mr Richardson.” 

Martin turned back to the stitching horse. His fingers felt so raw, and the very sight of thread was making him feel a bit dizzy. Or maybe it was Douglas’ disappointment. 

Douglas was busy with a saddle, polishing it, giving it the final touches. Stamping his initials in, DR. The universal sign of quality in Fitton. Other leathersmiths existed, but if you could afford it, if you wanted something that would last, if you wanted something that looked good, Richardson’s was where you went. 

And somehow, it was where Martin had gone, too. 

He looked at the leather before him, single strips ready to go. How could he not do this, yet? He’d been here for months, and he was getting better. He knew it, and if Douglas would just say as much… 

Douglas was famous for two things in this town: leather, and stoicism. 

The rumour was that someone had spotted a dragon, out in the forest, and it had sent a buzz through the town. Mrs Herlihy had told them when she’d come to pick up her new bag. She’d told Douglas what a fine job he’d done, given Martin a sorry look, then told them that someone had seen a dragon, that it was going to attack the castle. That was what they did, after all. Someone had told her that it was going to take off with the Princess and hold her ransom. 

That had been the thing that had stirred Douglas, who hadn’t seemed to be listening. He had laughed at that, and told Mrs Herlihy that Princess Carolyn wouldn’t be worth anything as a ransom. As far as he was concerned, a dragon could take her and the King would say thank you, as much trouble as she was. 

Martin had thought that that was unfair. But he knew better by now than to try and contradict Douglas. 

For the last week, he had been trying to make a belt that Douglas wouldn’t dismiss out of hand. Douglas had said that it was to prepare him, because the Spring Festival was coming up, and that always meant a new set of tack for the palace horses. Martin had quibbled that – after all, it had only just turned winter. 

And Douglas had laughed, and said “How long do you think it takes to make a saddle, boy?”

He wasn’t laughing at Martin, exactly, but Martin still felt his ears go hot with embarrassment. It was a wonder to him that Douglas hadn’t turned him away weeks ago, sent him packing and found an apprentice who could actually do the work. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, turning back, again. This time he’d do it. This time he’d make Douglas proud. 

With a groan, Douglas got to his feet. “Come here,” he said, striding over to the other side of the shop. Martin felt a cold chill rush through him, then another wave of embarrassment as he realised he was half expecting Douglas to smack him and send him on his way. Even though Douglas was grumpy and seemed unkind, that felt like a betrayal of his character. He was better than that. 

Martin got up and scurried across to see what Douglas wanted. 

“I’m going to show you one more time, alright?” Douglas said, picking up some strips of leather and settling on one of the free stitching horses. “Watch very closely, because I expect you to learn something, this time. See how I’m holding the awl? It’s not a fight, see? You have to listen to it as much as you want it to listen to you. Trying to force it into a shape is the fastest way to make something ugly, and we’ve got a reputation here.”

Somehow, Douglas made it look so easy, puncturing the leather, weaving the thread through the holes. Martin barely blinked, trying to absorb every single thing he saw, trying not to think about his own failures. This was what he wanted. Wasn’t it? Wasn’t he the luckiest young man in the world? To be here with Douglas Richardson, learning the craft from a man he had admired for so long? 

He just wished he could do better. 

“There, look at this. I don’t need to tell you it’s good. This is what I want from you, this level of quality. You’ve got that disgusting ‘never give up!’ attitude of the young, so why don’t you try applying it to your work? I’m going to need the help with the tack, so you’re going to have to get better. I’d hate to let you go so soon.”

That was just like a knife twisting in Martin’s gut. He clenched his fists, knuckled whitening. His whole job was at stake, everything he’d ever wanted in his life. And here he was, messing it all up. He cast his eyes down to the floor and said, quietly, “Sorry, Mr Richardson. I’ll do better this time.”

Douglas rose with a sigh, clapping a hand on Martin’s shoulder. “I know you can, lad. You just have to let yourself. Try again, and show me when you’re done.”

Martin nodded and dashed back to his station. “Oh, and Martin?” Douglas added, making Martin look over his shoulder with big, wide eyes. “For goodness sake, stop calling me Mr Richardson. It makes me sound like a teacher.”

Though Martin was desperate to say _but you are_ , he held his tongue. Douglas had just been almost kind to him and he wasn’t ready to spoil that yet. He picked up his awl, and began again. 

#

The carriage lurched over another pothole, jostling Theresa awake as her head smacked against the window. She groaned. These mountain paths never got any better.  
Maxi dozed on, his mouth open. Nothing would wake him up for all the world until they got there. She envied that. She could never sleep on trips, but her brother was always the first one out, and the last one awake. The benefits of being a child king, she supposed. 

It was a long way to Fitton. Getting over the mountains was the worst bit, but the stretch of green hills beyond never failed to bore. At least her mother had insisted on two carriages this time, one for her and Eliza, and another for Theresa and Maxi. It saved awkward silences and worse conversations. There were only so many times you could be told to sit up straight on a two-day trip. 

And with Maxi asleep, it was just her and her thoughts.

They visited Fitton so often that her mother didn’t even bother bringing servants any more to save on the travel expenses. Still, her mother insisted that the King hired her a temporary lady’s maid, though Theresa suspected that he just repurposed one of their other serving girls. She was usually helped by Princess Carolyn’s maid, a small woman named Sarah who had perfected the art of pretending to be obedient and meek in everyone’s company except for theirs. 

Theresa wondered, sometimes, on long trips like this, what would have happened if her mother had forced her to share with Ruth and her maid rather than Carolyn. The thought was unbearable – Ruth and Eliza were perfect for each other in their awfulness. 

But Theresa and Carolyn were best friends, sitting up all night laughing about all the things that had happened while they had been apart, saying things they couldn’t dare say to anyone else about their sisters, their kingdoms. Talking about adventures. Sometimes, Theresa thought that Carolyn went too far, that her night-time adventures were too dangerous and her willingness to speak back in a public setting was too rash. Carolyn had called her a coward for that.

Perhaps she was. But she would never be queen, and her mother had too tight a hold over what she could and couldn’t do for her to be as outspoken as Carolyn. 

The carriage jostled her again, swinging around a bend that seemed impossibly tight. This part of the journey always made her feel sick, the tiny winding path over the crest of the mountains. The only thing that made it better was knowing that the other side was all downhill. That they were, almost, nearly there.


	2. Chapter 2

The bell tinkled over the door as Arthur strolled in. He always enjoyed that, the little welcome. At least, that’s what it felt like to him. On his way down, several people had waved at him and said hello, and he’d made sure to stop for each one of them, to ask them how they were, what they were up to. He thought it was important to care about the people. Not that he’d say so in court. There was only so much being shouted at he could take. 

He could see Douglas, the big door to the workshop wide open, a shadow leaning over his work. It sounded like he was having a heated conversation with someone. Politely, Arthur decided not to listen, and said brightly “Hello?”

Douglas swore, and the other figure vanished. “One minute!” he called. Arthur looked around, not minding the wait. He liked to look at things, and Douglas had an awful lot of things in his shop. Shoes and belts and scabbards lined the shelves, all ordered into neat lines, waiting for someone to come and pick them up. 

Even though Arthur enjoyed coming here, the King begrudged having to use Douglas’ wares. But they were the best, and he was respected by the people, and most of all, his prices were reasonable. To the King, this was suspicious; to Arthur, it was generous. He had never seen Douglas mistreat a customer, even Duchess Birling when all she did was come in to shout at him. 

“Sorry, my lord,” said Douglas as he passed through the door. “We’ve had a lot to sort out this week. How can I help you?” 

“I’m sorry to give you more to do, but I’ve been sent with a shopping list for Spring Festival, and Dad really seems to want to retack the horses completely, even though they all got new bridles last winter and I can’t see anything wrong with them, but you can’t say no to him when he’s in a ‘give commands’ kind of mood and, well – I was sent here.”

Arthur held out a piece of paper with the list on it. Douglas took it from him without a smile and looked over it with a grunt. There was a long pause. “I suppose this was the right year for an apprentice, after all,” muttered Douglas before looking up again. “We should be able to manage this, but it’ll be tight. Even when you come back in March with pressure from above, it’ll be tight.”

“I know,” said Arthur, nodding sagely. The truth was, he had no idea how long any of this stuff took. But he believed in Douglas, and if he said it was going to take a long time, then Arthur believed him. What would be the point in lying? 

“Is Martin around?” Arthur asked, thinking it might be a good idea to change topic before Douglas got grumpy. Douglas was a good man, and a hard-worker, but he turned mean when he was grumpy, and Arthur didn’t feel in the mood to be teased. 

“I sent him on his lunch break, oh, twenty minutes ago? He should be back any second now. He has a funny thing about being late.” 

“Oh,” said Arthur, unable to hide his surprise. “I thought I saw him in the back.”

Douglas’ eyes turned hard, suddenly. “No. He ought to be bringing me one of Mrs Herlihy’s famous meat pies any second now.”

There was an air of levity to Douglas’ words, but Arthur got the distinct feeling that he shouldn’t ask any more questions about it, even if he wanted to. Which he did. He had been sure he’d seen someone, heard Douglas speaking to someone. 

As if on cue, the bell rang above the door, and Martin stumbled in. “I’m so sorry, Mr Richardson, the queue was really long and – Your majesty!” He bowed his head and scurried over to Douglas, holding out a paper bag. Douglas shook his head fondly. 

“Hello Martin,” said Arthur, beaming. “How was Mrs Herlihy?”

Martin settled himself on a small stool next to the counter, picking up a shoe that he had been in the middle of polishing. “She was okay. Grumpy about the amount of customers.”

“Isn’t she always?” drawled Douglas round a mouthful of pie. “This tastes fresh, at least.” 

“It’s why the queue was so long, it’s right out of the oven.” 

Arthur felt his stomach rumble. Douglas nodded, content. “And how are you?” asked Arthur, not wanting to leave quite yet. He always loved coming down to this shop. How normal they made him feel. 

“I’m fine,” said Martin casually, before remembered who he was talking to and adding a “My Lord,” at the end. Normal to a point, perhaps. At least Douglas never bothered with formalities. Arthur knew his father would have a fit if he knew how Arthur let the townspeople speak to him, but he didn’t really see the point in titles. He didn’t really see why his position of birth meant anything, really. 

He’d been called a dreamer, and worse, for that. 

“What are you working on at the moment?” Arthur asked, smiling warmly. Martin blinked at him, his eyes darting towards Douglas who had finished his pie and settled into his chair. 

“Um, well. I’ve been stitching a bag this week, but of course I’ll help Mr Richardson in whatever way he needs with this royal order.” Martin kept his gaze firmly fixed on the floor. Did he really think this was an interrogation?

Arthur nodded. “I wish you both luck with it. I’m sorry it’s so much, but it’s not really up to me. I’ll come and check in now and then so I can tell my father how brilliant you’re being.”

Douglas cracked his eyes back open at this and nodded at Arthur. Martin dared a glance at him, still seeming to think he was under a test. Arthur wanted to explain, to say out loud that the only reason he was coming back was being he liked it here, he liked them. Somehow, he didn’t think it would make a difference. Martin was always going to see him as the prince and nothing more. 

He beamed at them both again, said goodbye, then turned on his heel, smiling at the bell above the door and then at the winter sun that shone down to bounce off the cold street. 

#

Douglas was vaguely aware of Martin talking to him. really, he just wanted another pie, but to do that he’d have to get up and go himself. It would be indulgent, really. 

“Douglas?” That snapped him right out of his thoughts – Martin only ever used his name for attention. He blinked slowly and leaned forwards as though he had been listening. 

“Hm?”

“I asked, are you going to implement a plan for the order? If we have a lot to do, I mean.”

With a sigh, Douglas reclined again. It hadn’t been that important after all. “Nope,” he said, closing his eyes again. 

“No? But… isn’t it a lot to do?”

Douglas turned his head to look straight at Martin, eyebrow raised. “And we’ll get it done. I always do. You think Richardson’s has its reputation because I don’t deliver?”

Martin frowned and shook his head. “I’d just like to know what needs doing, that’s all.”

“Look, if you’re that desperate to get moving, Shipwright dropped his boots off while you were out. You can get started on them.”

Martin sat bolt upright, starling Douglas into sitting up too. “Shipwright was here? While the Prince was here?”

Douglas shrugged. “I kicked him out when I heard the bell. Honestly, it’s not a big deal. Arthur didn’t see anything.”

“Didn’t see…! I can’t believe you even let Shipwright in here at all, let alone when you know the Prince is in town! What if you’d been caught?”

“Calm down, Martin,” said Douglas, folding his arms. This happened every single time, and at this point, Douglas was more than a little tired of the overreaction. So maybe it was a bad idea to keep consorting with a known and wanted rogue. It probably was, and it wasn’t really worth thinking about what would happen if they got caught. 

Reputation only went so far, after all, and Douglas was lucky that no-one remembered his from before. 

Martin, however, was not calm. “I can’t believe you’re so blasé about it. You can’t just let a _fugitive of the law_ into your shop! Especially not with the Prince in town.” 

Douglas rose to his feet, trying not to let the way Martin shrunk back onto the stool go to his head. “Look, it’s my business who I let into my shop. Shipwright pays well and I’m not asking where he got the money, so my hands are clean. And besides, I didn’t know Arthur was in town. And he’d hardly turn us in anyway.” Martin opened his mouth, but Douglas cut him off firmly. “End of discussion. If you don’t like it, you know where the door is.”

For a split-second, Douglas thought that Martin might actually have grown a spine enough to stand his ground. But he wilted again and nodded. “Yes, Mr Richardson.” 

Little as Douglas wanted to admit it, Martin did have a point. But until the day came that Martin could make it without backing down, then Douglas refused to listen. He waved a hand at Martin, and said “Go and strip the soles off those boots. I’ll be through in a minute.”

Martin didn’t look at Douglas as he scampered off. Douglas sighed. He had far more to teach Martin than just leatherwork, that much was clear. And he was determined to do it, no matter the cost. 

#

“I don’t believe you for a single second,” Theresa laughed, her hair cascading around her as her shoulders shook. “A dragon? And it spoke to you!” 

“I’m serious!” said Carolyn, folding her arms. 

They were wandering through the castle garden, along a path that was covert enough that they wouldn’t be interrupted, but public enough that they wouldn’t be chastised for trying to hide away. Carolyn knew all of those sweet spots without looking. She had led Theresa out here, to the wall that marked the boundary of the grounds, imposing and grey. An oak tree grew in the corner, its branches fighting a long battle with the stone, crumbling it away over the years. Hardly anyone ever came here. 

“What did it say, then? This _dragon_?”

“I can’t believe you don’t believe me. If we weren’t expected back soon, I’d show you.” Theresa gave Carolyn a dubious look. “She said,” said Carolyn, ignoring Theresa’s doubt, “She’d been watching me for a while. She said she could help me.”

“Creepy.”

“I realise saying it out loud, it does sound creepy, but it wasn’t. I can’t explain it, but I trusted her. I just knew she wasn’t lying to me.”

“Carolyn,” said Theresa, coming to a halt. “You know I think you’re a little bit crazy, right?”

“Thanks,” said Carolyn, frowning. 

Theresa took hold of Carolyn’s hands, looking at her earnestly. “No-one in their right minds ought to go near a dragon, but if anyone can hold their own against one, I know it’s you. I just don’t want to see you get hurt. I don’t want you to do anything too rash.”

“Define rash,” said Carolyn, sighing. Theresa was right, of course she was, but it still hurt to think her friend didn’t trust her. 

Once, when they’d been young, they’d both run off to hide in the dungeons of Fitton Castle, trying to scare each other with stories about ghosts and rats and prisoners. They’d hidden from everyone all day, crawling around in the shadows. Eventually, they’d been busted and everyone had been so angry with them, shouting and shouting and shouting, and they’d been sent to bed without dinner. And all they did was laugh about it, late into the evening, staring at the ceiling as they both developed a taste for freedom. 

“Why would a dragon be watching you? Aren’t you at all curious about its motives?”

“I hardly think she’s about to carry me off and hold me to ransom. She didn’t look big enough.”

“Still, if it’s smart, it will know your value.”

“Theresa, honestly, you sound like my father.” 

Theresa threw her hands up in surrender, letting go of Carolyn’s. Her mouth dropped open in fake horror. “What an insult. When did I stop being fun?” She put her hands on her hips, drawing herself up and frowning, her voice a parody of the King. “You should stay at home and be a good girl, and get married and uphold the system and put all these silly notions of adventure out of your head.”

Carolyn laughed, shaking her head. “Maybe I should get kidnapped by a dragon. It would be the most princessly thing I’ve ever done. I think father would be proud.”

“I think your father has never felt pride in anything except his power in all his life. You’ll let me know if I ever get that bad?”

“Of course,” Carolyn said quickly, pretending she didn’t see the worried look in Theresa’s eyes. She knew her friend wouldn’t bring it up again, but worse, she knew she was right. Consorting with a dragon was crazy behaviour. But not quite enough to make her want to stop. 

“I doubt you could ever get that stuffy anyway. I simply won’t let you,” Carolyn said, trying to keep her voice light. Theresa smiled back at her, looping her arm through Carolyn’s as they set off again, following the curve of the wall.

Carolyn could have stayed out all afternoon, here with her friend, cracking jokes and making plans for escape. But, as usual, everyone else had other ideas, and before she was ready to let go, a servant came running up to them to tell them that the King wanted them back at once, because tonight they were having a big banquet to honour the Gustavas coming to visit, and dinner was very nearly served.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr at [sircarolyn](http://sircarolyn.tumblr.com/)!


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